


Out of Time

by Chie (Chierafied)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Culture Shock, Eventual Romance, F/M, Slow To Update, Time Travel, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 15:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12257103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierafied/pseuds/Chie
Summary: In his twenty-odd years on Earth Kurosaki Ichigo had seen some pretty weird stuff. But a flesh-and-blood female samurai hailing from the Warring States period is something out of this world, even by Ichigo's standards.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series originated as drabble, which I later decided to continue. Each chapter here is a separate drabble originally posted [on Tumblr](http://drabblers.tumblr.com/tagged/IR-Timetravel-AU).
> 
> The update schedule is going to be erratic and infrequent, and the story has not been beta-read, so consider yourselves warned.

Kurosaki Ichigo’s senses had always been a little more fine-tuned than those of an average person. Hence, he often saw, heard, and felt things that escaped the regular folk’s attention – such as the ghost of a young girl lingering at a street corner. Therefore, it was safe to say that in his twenty-odd years on Earth he had seen some pretty weird stuff. But none quite as weird as what he was about to witness.

The day had started out normal enough. In fact, everything had been perfectly uneventful – until his visit to the convenience store. He had just left the shop, a little plastic bag in hand, when the hairs at the back of his neck rose. Every muscle in his body grew tense and suddenly it was hard to even draw a breath. The air around him was thick and heavy, almost crackling with energy. And then, a sizzling thunderbolt crashed to the ground with an ear-shattering _BOOM_.

Ichigo jumped, earning a few curious glances from passers-by who hadn’t seemed to have noticed a thing.

For a moment, he simply stood in front of the convenience store. The voice at the back of his mind was telling him to turn and run; to get away from whatever that weird surge of energy had been. But somehow, his feet were moving forward, towards the park where he could still feel rather disturbing, sporadic bursts of energy.

Because even though there was a part of him that _really_ didn’t want to know what the hell had just happened, he seemed to have been the only person in the vicinity who had even noticed the crazy shit hit the fan, so to speak – which also made him the only person able to check the park out to see if something was seriously wrong.

That still didn’t mean that he jogged over; he was making his way towards the park in slow, cautious steps. His hair was still standing up, his muscles still pulled taut, and his pulse so wild it was making his ears throb. Any sign of trouble and he would be out of here.

He reached the edge of the park, and looked around, peering cautiously from behind a tree trunk. On the grass up ahead, a dark shape was pulling itself on two slightly staggering feet.

Ichigo stared, trying to make sense of what he saw: his first thought was some kid doing cosplay… But the longer he stared, the _wronger_ the shape felt. As impressive as the costume was, it also looked fairly battered – and splattered with a dark liquid the sight of which made Ichigo feel rather queasy.

And then, it lifted its head and looked straight at him.

The small voice was back in full force, yelling at him to run. But his body was frozen, and he could only helplessly watch as the shape came closer.

It stopped a few feet away, and Ichigo’s eyes met with deep violet ones, two dark pools in a pale face.

Definitely not a kid, Ichigo’s overworked brain registered. Also the features were startlingly feminine.

Then the figure moved, the samurai armour creaking as one hand shifted over to a rounded hip to rest on a –

Ichigo swallowed, hoping against hope that wasn’t a real sword, even when the sinking feeling in his stomach suggested otherwise.

She looked around, frowning as she slowly took in the buildings towering in the distance, the lights, and the noise of the passing cars. Then, her violet gaze snapped back to him, visibly unhappier than it had been before.

“What is this place?” she asked, in a voice that demanded an answer.

“Karakura town,” Ichigo replied, eyeing her warily. “Is that blood?” he blurted, looking at the ominous dark stains on her armour.

“Yes,” she answered curtly, her eyebrow arching. “Which province is this?”

_Province_? Ichigo blinked. “Umm, well… we’re in the prefecture of Tokyo?”

“Tokyo,” she repeated, frowning again. “I have never heard of such a name.” Her eyes found his, and narrowed. “Are you being truthful?”

“I am!” Ichigo said, raising his hands in the air. The shopping bag rustled with the sudden movement, drawing the woman’s attention.

“What is that you are carrying?”

“Nothing,” Ichigo yelped, all too aware of the twitch of her fingers – the very fingers wrapped around the sword hilt. “It’s just a shopping bag.”

“Show me,” she demanded and Ichigo hastened to comply, pulling out a bag of chips and a can of beer and holding them out for her to see.

She blinked, the frown slowly turning into a look of curiosity and she reached for the beer can, tapping the surface experimentally.

“What is this odd container?”

“A can,” Ichigo said, his stomach sinking further as a new, uncomfortable suspicion set in. “Here, you can have it if you want.”

“Thank you,” she said, graciously accepting the offered gift. “What does it hold within?”

“Beer,” Ichigo said, his free hand moving to rub the back of his head, as a sudden certainty warred with stubborn disbelief. “It’s a drink,” he added.

“I do feel rather parched,” she admitted, and to Ichigo’s relief, released her grip on her sword so she could examine the can closer. “How does one get it to open?”

“Here,” he said, fishing out the other can and demonstrating with it.

The woman mimicked him and snorted a half-surprised, half-delighted laugh as the can popped open. She brought it to her lips and took a slow sip.

“What a peculiar taste,” she murmured, but took another swig.

Ichigo stared at her in a silence, wavering between _not_ wanting and _needing_ to know, until the latter finally won.

“Uh, this might be a weird question but… What year were you born?”

The slender eyebrow rose again, but mollified by the offering of a drink, the woman deigned to answer.

“1545. Why do you ask?”

Ichigo released the sigh lodged in his throat. This was going to be a long night.

 


	2. Lost

Rukia blinked at the night sky stretching above her. It seemed wrong somehow – then she realised all the stars were gone.

She noticed the sounds next; they were wrong too. Gone were the victorious shouts of her men, the creak of the armour, the clang of steel, the snap of their banners straining in the evening wind. Here it was oddly silent, what sounds there were, a low rumble and a curious, annoying hum, were far in the distance.

Wary, Rukia struggled to her feet. Her knees felt weak, and the ground under her feet was scorched. She instantly gripped the hilt of her sword and looked around for enemies. There was no one in sight, just the expanse of green grass spreading around her. She also noticed the light – although it was night time, she could see around herself clearly. What lanterns were these that illuminated the dark so completely?

A flutter of movement not too far away caught her eye. Someone was there, in the shadow of a tree. An enemy? Assassin? Another archer? She walked over briskly, and since the person watching her didn’t move, stopped a few feet from him. She stared at him, inching her hand towards her sword.

His facial features didn’t seem any different from hers, but his clothes and the colour of his hair were peculiar to say the least… Could he be one of the foreigners, trading in the Western ports? Or, perhaps, a descendant of one?

Then again… Rukia looked around, at all the bright, odd lanterns, the towering buildings looming at a distance, the starless sky, the alien sounds. Mayhaps this whole land was foreign.

Her gaze moved back to the orange-haired young man, just as another possibility entered her mind. Had the arrow struck true after all? How could she know if she even was in the land of the living anymore?

All she knew was that one moment, she had been battling against the enemy, yelling as she and her men sent them running, and then one of her retainers had pushed her aside to protect her from a well-aimed arrow. But once she had got up, the battlefield was gone. And wherever she now was, it most definitely was not Musashi.

“What is this place?” she asked the man in front of her.

“Karakura town,” the man replied, his eyes a little wild. “Is that blood?”

“Yes,” she replied, her eyebrow rising at such a silly question. He behaved like man who had never seen battle! “Which province is this?” she asked next, feeling a little relieved. His speech was queer, but recognisable. Perhaps she was still in Yamato after all.

The man blinked, bewildered. “Umm, well… we’re in the prefecture of Tokyo?”

She tried out the name, frowning. “Tokyo. I have never heard of such a name. Are you being truthful?”

“I am!”

She was about to ask him how this ‘Tokyo’ was written, but as the man moved she realised he had something in his hand. How clumsy of her, to overlook such a thing!

She stared at the thin, pale pouch, wondering if it held any weapons.

“What is that you are carrying?”

“Nothing!” he insisted, alarmed, glancing at her hand, wrapped around the hilt of her sword. “It’s just a shopping bag.”

Another foreign term. She was getting tired of them.

“Show me.”

He obeyed her hastily, pulling two objects out of the pouch, the likes of which Rukia had never seen before. Her mounting frustration gave way to curiosity, as she tapped one of the objects. A metal cylinder; a container of some kind?

“What is this odd container?” she asked him.

“A can,” he replied. “Here, you can have it if you want.”

Now that was unexpected. Nevertheless, she accepted the gift. “Thank you.”

She held the container – can – in her hand, the metal cool against her fingers. She tested its weight and felt something inside it move.

“What does it hold within?”

“Beer,” he answered readily, rubbing the back of his head. If appearances were anything to go by, he was just as perplexed about her as she was of him and everything around her. “It’s a drink,” he added, trying to be helpful.

“I do feel rather parched,” Rukia admitted, moving her hand away from her sword.

She was quite sure now this man was not her enemy. Of course, the drink may have been poisoned, but she couldn’t see how; the can was well and truly sealed.

“How does one get it to open?”

He reached into the pouch to pull out another can, and Rukia studied him closely as he pulled on the small ring to open it. She mirrored his movements, and couldn’t help a small laugh when she managed an opening. What a funny sound it made!

Carefully, she lifted the can to her lips to take a small sip.

“What a peculiar taste,” she remarked. To be frank, she wasn’t sure if she liked the drink or not. She took another sip.

The young man was watching her, an odd, almost pained look in his eyes. His scowl deepened, until finally he spoke to her.

“Uh, this might be a weird question but… What year were you born?”

Rukia’s eyebrow arched. She wondered why he would wish for such information, but then, he had answered all of her questions promptly and offered her this _beer_ …

“1545. Why do you ask?”

The young man let out a heavy sigh. He looked her over, his gaze lingering on the armour and the sword.

“You were in a battle, recently?”

Rukia nodded. “Our clan allied with Lord Oda after his victory over Lord Imagawa. Not all our neighbours were understanding.”

“Lord Oda,” the young man repeated. “Oda Nobunaga?”

Rukia nodded, though she did not like the grim look on the man’s face.

“I think you asked me the wrong question,” the man spoke at last, his voice weary. “It’s not where you are; it’s _when_.”

 


	3. Stuck

The unsettling deep purple eyes stared at him, unblinking.

“What do you mean _when_?” the temporally displaced samurai said, in a sharp tone that demanded answers.

Ichigo rubbed his neck.

This was such a fucking mess. How did he always find himself in these situations?

…Not that he had ever come across an unwitting time traveller before – the ghosts were quite enough to give him a headache.

“Look,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t know how you got here, but I can explain where here is.”

“I am listening.”

“The thing is,” Ichigo gritted his teeth, “it might be better to discuss this over at my place rather than out in the public. Luckily there aren’t too many people around but you attract attention.”

Suspicion flashed in the woman’s eyes. “Do you swear on your clan you are not luring me into a trap?”

Ichigo thought about pointing out that _she_ was the one with the armour and the sword, but thought better of it. Best not provoke a warrior who was already on edge.

Also knowing that she hailed from the warring states era certainly explained that cautious nature.

“I swear,” Ichigo said. “I mean you no harm.”

She considered him, then nodded. “Very well. Let us go.”

“Also please keep your sword sheathed,” Ichigo told her. “People here do not walk around armed.”

That remark earned him a very incredulous look from the female samurai, but thankfully she gave him another nod of agreement.

They were not far from Ichigo’s apartment, and since the hour was late not that many people were up and about. Still, he tried to stick to shortcuts and back alleys the best he could, to keep his curious companion out of sight.

He didn’t realise how tense he’d grown until – finally in the safety of his apartment – he slumped against his front door in relief.

Beside him, the woman stared. Her gaze darted around the apartment, drinking in everything she saw, confusion and curiosity warring on her face.

“This is where you live?” she asked, slanting him an assessing look.

“Yeah.”

It was just a studio apartment, but to her, it must have looked impressive.

Ichigo kicked off his shoes and walked in, gesturing her to follow.

“Sit,” he told her, pointing at the chair by the small kitchen table.

She lowered herself to it stiffly. He felt her stare follow him as he went to the kitchenette to put away the groceries.

A moment later, he set a mug full of steaming tea in front of her, next to the can of beer she had put down, and took a seat across from her.

“The area we are in at the moment,” he started, staring at the table because he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her eyes, “is roughly the area around the town you will know as Edo.”

Her eyebrow arched. Her gaze flicked towards the window, and the lights of the city burning in the darkness.

“Edo,” she repeated.

She did not believe him, that much was clear from the tone of her voice.

Ichigo took a breath and steeled himself before he dropped the actual bombshell on her.

“Today is the 16th of April, and the year is 2017.”

She didn’t reply. She stared at him, her slender hands wrapped around the mug.

“You are insinuating that I have somehow travelled through time,” she spoke at last, her voice flat. “To four and half centuries in the future?”

Ichigo frowned at her and shrugged.

“I very much want to call you foolish,” the woman said at last, “and insist that was impossible. Only…” she made a sweeping gesture at him and the entire apartment. “Everything here looks foreign to me, as if from a different world.”

Ichigo nodded. He looked at this short woman, clad in her clunky, blood-spattered armour, her back stiff and straight, her shoulders slumping as she stared down at her tea. She looked so out of place, sitting there at his kitchen table. He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling right now, what was going through her mind.

“Thank you for this information,” she said after a moment. Her voice had grown smaller and softer. She looked up, and the colour of her eyes had shifted to a pale lilac; they looked haunted when they met his.

The sight tugged at Ichigo’s heartstrings, and the words were out of his mouth before he’d had the chance to think about them and their consequences.

“You’re welcome to stay here, for as long as you need.”

She blinked and lowered her gaze. “I have already troubled you a great deal, I could not possibly burden you any further.”

Ichigo scowled at her.

“Where else are you going to go?”

Her cheeks flushed in anger.

“You need someplace to crash until you figure out how to get back,” Ichigo continued. “Might as well be here.”

A long silence stretched between them. Her knuckles were white against the porcelain of the mug.

Then she relaxed.

“It is not ‘you’,” she said at last, her gaze locking with his. “My name is Kuchiki Rukia.”

Ichigo’s scowl eased, and a faint smile touched his lips.

“I’m Kurosaki Ichigo.”

 

 


End file.
